Journey of the Lyon's Heart
by SAhfurhguer
Summary: Alexander and his sister Sabrina have been apostates on the run all their lives, but when the breach tears open the sky and demons pour out, they have no choice but to work together with strangers and trust the Inquisition holds their ticket to freedom from the Circle and their safety from possession as the Elder One rains doom upon all the world. prologue is iffy, rest is better
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Alexander's Journal

Entry one:

Am I a good Andrastian? Certainly not. I take the Maker's name in vain with every second breath and more than once I've fondled a statue of nude Andraste for a good laugh. But I'm praying to the Maker now that whatever that hole in the sky is the bloody Templars pull through and be useful for once. They're calling it the Breach and it opened about three months ago, and the Temple of Sacred ashes- you know it, it's pretty much the biggest temple of the Andrastian Chantry—was blown to bits and pieces by it. Demons have been pouring out of it ever since, but even worse, it's not the only one of its kind. The only thing we heard was a fairy tale about some tit they're calling the Herald of Andraste who's apparently able to close the damn thing.

My name is Alexander Lyon. It used to be Du Bois, but my sister and I are wanted apostates known by that name, so we changed it. Lyon almost sounds like Lion, and if I know my fellow Orlesians their fetish for all things lion will keep us in their good graces. We'll just have to make an effort to return to Orlais when all this blows over and mages are mostly forgotten. Or we can wait until the world falls apart and everyone dies. I'm working on a solid plan, no worries.

Here from Starkhaven, up in the good ol' Free Marches and next to infamous Kirkwall, the Breach seems small, it's all the way down south and far away from us. We get our occasional tear in the sky around here, but that new Prince keeps the walls secure and his guards trained well. He also thumps his scriptures, if you know what I mean… I mean that he's aggressive with his faith in the chantry for those that didn't get it (lookin' at you, Sabrina).

Entry two:

As safe as we feel here, we may have to leave soon. We talked too much and our Orlesian accents drew attention. There's some weird farm hand and his brother or something that's been following my sister and I around, like we're friends or something. The brother's alright, I suppose, he's loud and a little obnoxious, but he's funny at least. Got a good feeling about that one. The other one's been ogling my sister, however, and that has to stop. I'm not comfortable with going to Ferelden, closer to the breach and the Inquisition, but I think I'd step into the Fade itself to avoid _him._ Sabrina seems to like him, which makes it worse. She comes back to our room at the inn and climbs into her bunk. When I ask her what she'd been up to all day she tells me, "Oh, I've just been reading and talking about books with Hunter. I didn't think Farmhands read books."

I want to tell her, "Of course they don't read books, the bastard's playing with you," but I don't want to hurt her feelings. I also don't want to make Kane, his step-brother angry by suggesting that he and Hunter piss off. We'll just have to leave soon. We haven't been to Kirkwall yet. Not excited about going there, but maybe they dislike the Templars more than the mages by now. I heard the Knight Commander is still in the Gallows, in statue form, watching everyone. Maybe we should go there. Nobody wants to be there.

I don't know. I have no solid plans for the future. I don't know how I'm going to be able to take care of my sister and keep her safe from demons and Templars. I guess I should tell my sister in the morning we'll be leaving. Maybe we'll go to Ferelden instead, I heard they have a couple of Apostates there, maybe they'll let us in.

Entry three:

I will never admit it to Sabrina, but I have been thinking that maybe the Inquisition isn't as terrible as we first thought. I know they took up arms with the Templars, but that Herald, the Trevelyan is a Free Marcher. I haven't spent much time in this country, but the Marchers I have met are good people, except for Hunter, he's a tit. I just hope they don't plan to come along.

Entry four:

Sabrina threw a huge fit when I told her we were leaving and that she couldn't say goodbye to Hunter, and then she ran out on me. Maker's balls, when I find them, I'm gonna roast that good-for-nothing Marcher alive.

Entry five:

Well, shit. They're coming with us. Hunter insists. Kane insists. I hate them both, and I hope when we get to Ferelden they drown in dog shit. I sincerely hope the Breach isn't closed by then because I want it to rain demons down upon those two like an endless stream of diarrhea.

I . Hate. Hunter. Tann.

Entry six:

We're almost to Ferelden, heading towards Amaranthine, on the coast. We'll have to head west to reach the Inquisition's headquarters, but I heard rumors that we could possibly access them through Redcliffe, in the Ferelden Hinterlands. I don't know if we should, I heard a lot of bad news about mages from there. We shouldn't get caught up in it. Of all the places in Thedas, I think it's safe to say that wherever the Inquisition is holed up is the safest, and wherever the mages are hiding out and doing bad is the worst place an apostate could be.

Entry seven:

The Inquisition, destroyed. Haven, their base is gone—they closed the breach and then an army of mages destroyed it— _mages!_ We have nowhere to go. I suppose we could just stay in Amaranthine, but the Grey Wardens are getting antsy. Everyone's probably lashing out of mages. I heard what happened in Kirkwall, but to imagine that happening to an entire country? We may as well dig our own graves.

We have absolutely nowhere to go. Where would anyone accept mages now? Where would anybody accept apostates? I look at my sister and I think that maybe I failed her. I wasn't fast enough. We'd be better off dead in Haven than here. We'd be better off buried in the snow than in a world where everyone is against us. I heard the Champion of Kirkwall was an apostate who fled with the Grey Warden, Anders, on the run forever now. I supposed it would be easier for her because she took down an entire city's worth of Templars, cut them off at the balls by finishing off their Knight-Commander. But us? We're nobody. Nobody would think twice about forcing us into the circles, or branding us with Tranquility. We have no mother or father to speak of, no family that would support us. All we have are these two Marchers to watch as the world closes in on us.

Nobody would give half a shit if Alexander and Sabrina Lyon died with the rest of the mages in the war that's coming. Nobody.

 _(I know the beginning here is a little confusing, but the story will fall into place soon)_

 **Character and Informational Guide before the story officially kicks off**

Partly for my friends who haven't been as interested in Dragon Age as I have but may still try to read the story, and possibly a refresher for those that have played the games and everything. I had to play around with the names and a little with the appearances (changing purple hair and red eyes to something more realistic, in this case) to make them better fit the universe. I also changed around a couple of my characters to give the story more variety, but they are essentially the same in personality.

 **Thedas-** The name of the continent. Includes countries and kingdoms such as Ferelden, Orlais, Antiva, The Tevinter Imperium, The Free Marches, Nevarra, Rivain, the Anderfels, and Seheron, along with several underground, Dwarven kingdoms.

 **Apostate-** A mage that has escaped or has never been in a Circle of Magi. They are often mistaken for no-gooders and blood mages.

 **Magister-** A member of the Magisterium, the upper house of Imperial senate in the Tevinter Imperium, a kingdom that does not abide by Andrastian Chantry law. The seats of the Senate are split between the seven Circles of Magi in the Imperium (senior enchanters, not first enchanters), the Imperial Chantry, the children of other Magisters should they be of age and be fit for the job, and whomever the Archon (the mage-ruler) chooses.

 **The Circle of Magi-** A school and place of living for Mages, those with magical abilities. It was established by the chantry (the church) to protect the Mages from the people, and the people from the Mages.

 **Templars-** , knights with a holy duty to protect the world from the dangers of magic, they hunt apostates and blood mages, and carry out the **Rite of Tranquility** for those they have found unable to control their magical abilities.

 **Rite of Tranquility-** The ceremony of severing a mage's connection to the Fade, the "dream world" from which they draw their magical ability, and their wants and desires (Basically they are a fleshy robot that eats and sleeps).

 **Blood Magic-** Magic in which the user uses blood. It is a powerful school of magic, but leaves the mage more vulnerable to possessions by demons. Outlawed by the Chantry.

Characters:

 **Alexander Lyon-** Aleksandr Lion, the title character and sometimes narrator. He likes long walks on the beach and singing in the rain. He also likes peeing in Hunter's breakfast food, especially if it's cereal.

 **Sabrina Lyon-** Sabrina Legendbreaker, his younger sister. Almost the polar opposite of her brother's personality, she prefers to stay indoors and study.

 **Jasmine, Lady of the Soul's Blood-** Jasmine Soulblood, the witch from Grizzleheim and the Vigilante /outlaw Lady Soulblood.

 **Quintus Sanguis-** Quinn Darkblood the son of Malistaire, Alex's best friend, and a powerful young necromancer.

 **Hunter Tann –** Hunter Firehaven , Sabrina's boyfriend, also Alex's Arch nemesis and classmate. Codenamed Big Momma.

 **Kane Artaith-** Kane Stormbringer weather magic wizard, professional slacker, possible stoner, and Hunter's hilarious step Big Daddy. He likes piña coladas and getting caught in the rain.

 **Oran Gwaed-** Jasmine's stalker, Lady Soulblood's hunter, general annoyance, and gross-smelling tag along.


	2. Chapter 1

"Run!"

"Is he coming after us?"

"Just go! Allons-y! Go, go!" I said, my accent growing thick as my heart jumped in my throat. Making money honestly was harder than we thought, and so we took _Kane's_ advice and tried to steal our dinner from a farmer growing seaside fruits on the outside of the city. Taking advice from Kane was the worst thing we could have possibly done, the man is an idiot. Of course the farmer had a Mabari hound. Of course it came snarling after us.

We ran for so long, and I have no doubt I bruised my sister's wrist, I was holding it so tight just so she would keep up. I didn't like doing it, and as soon as we entered the cave, I let go. Each of us took a few moments to catch our breath and listen for the snarling of the Mabari. It didn't seem as though it had found us, and the four of us sighed in relief.

"Well," Kane started, scratching his head as we all watched my sister, Sabrina turn to look at her own backside, where a hole was torn in the leg of her pants where the dog had almost gotten a hold of her flesh. In the light that came from the entrance, I saw a welt where one of his teeth had grazed her. "I suppose I should have thought that out a little more."

I stood straight, tall, and took a fistful of the raven hair on the back of Kane's head, yanking him towards me so we were face to face and on level—a cheap move, I am sure. Kane was more muscular than me, taller, and could probably crush my head in his arms if he flexed enough, but I was strong too. Years of having to run makes you ready yourself for anything. I readied myself to fight with my hands and with magic. These Marchers didn't know we were mages, but they wouldn't have to.

"Listen here, idiot," I said between grit teeth, "If you _ever_ think again, I will reach down your throat and castrate you from the inside. Do you understand? Don't think. Don't speak."

Kane struggled with the hand in his hair, but it was the red-headed boy that tackled me to the cold, damp ground of the cave, and swung a punch at me. I jerked my head away and lucky for me, he grazed my ear and drove his fist into the ground.

Alexander: 1

Hunter: 0

Chaos ensued, with the three of us wrestling, bloodying and bruising one another like Carta Dwarves over Lyrium. It only stopped when Kane grabbed hold of me, and bloodied my nose, because Sabrina pressed her boot to his ribs and shoved him off, coming in the center of all three of us with her arms raised like a mediator.

"That's enough! All of you! You're all acting like children!" said the youngest in our group. Her eighteenth was not too many weeks ago, but she was the only voice of reason among us. Kane, the eldest of us lowered his head, a large man of twenty-three, and crouched on the ground like a scolded child. Hunter's pale and freckled face turned redder than his hair, which would have pleased me if I didn't feel like murdering him.

We mumbled our apologies and sat in silence for a long, which was broken only by the rumbling of our stomachs. At this, Kane drew a sharp dagger from his belt and dragged a thick branch in from outside. I saw he was carving it into a spear.

"I'll go find something. Maybe we will be lucky and find a Halla this far east. Or some nug. Or rabbit, or ram. Whichever I find first," he said. I wondered how he could see with both his eyes blackened, "then we can all sit and cook through a fire." He took extra steps to make sure the spear was as sharp as it could get before he left, bringing his equally stupid brother and Hunter's longbow with him, and not long after they had gone, heavy rain poured down outside.

I stood, wiping some dried blood from my upper lip and said, "Fuck it, it's going to be cold. I'll find a spot further in and make sure it's safe," I turned to look at my sister, and motioned her to make eye contact with me, "You stay in that spot, and you know what to do if anything or anyone comes at you. Freeze them solid. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand." She sounded agitated, but I left anyway, a fireball in my hand for light. Maybe there were nugs in the cave, they like the dark. The trek further into the cave was long, damp, and musty, but the fire I dangerously kept in my hand lit the way to an opening that was already lit, by candles in the corner. My eyes were drawn to it, a small corner with a table and many books laying around or stacked neatly in small piles. Towards the shadow, I shone my own light and observed a trunk and the sleeve of a shirt or a dress made from some silky material hanging out.

That's when I felt it, the tingle of some familiar feeling rising up through my toes towards the base of my spine, and slithering up to raise the hairs on the back of my neck. I turned sharply, my fireball flickering at my startled movement and crackling, as my spells usually would if I got my adrenaline pumping. The light reflected off of a crystal bound tightly to the staff she carried, which was almost too tall for her. It was pointed quickly at my throat, and I felt the heat of the magic inside of it against my skin, humming wildly at the wielding mage's command.

"Tell me why you're here before I sic my friends on you," The girl said, speaking clearly like a Ferelden. My light had gone out, but it had given me just enough time to catch a glimpse of lively emerald eyes underneath a head of dark hair. In the dim light from her candles I could make out five large heaps towards the back end of the cave, all heaving lightly as they slept. A moment's silence allowed for a yawn to be heard.

Bears.

"I didn't come here for trouble," I said with my hands in the air, "My sister and a pair of brothers we met in the Free Marches came to Amaranthine looking for the Inquisition, but some odd circumstances have drawn us to this cave. We were only here looking for shelter from the rain as we perhaps found something to eat as well. I was looking for nugs."

The Ferelden paused for a long while, and I felt her eyes searching me in the dark. I breathed more easily when she took the staff's focus off of my throat, "You have magic, which is familiar," she started, carefully choosing her words, "Yet you don't wear the robes of the circle or carry a mage's tool. Why is that?"

It would be better to tell the truth, I figured, and so I did, after taking in a deep breath, "A staff would draw unwanted attention. I'll admit, even as an Orlesian peasant, the spotlight was my place, but as an apostate, it's better to stay away from it. I was never in the circle, these are my only clothes," I looked down at the leather cuirass and pants I wore over a linen shirt that I had to mend countless times, then looked back up and grinned at her reassuringly. I think I heard her snort.

Tapping the blade of her staff once on the cold ground, she made the crystal illuminate itself so we could better see in the dark, and I held my breath at the sight of her.

She looked to be about my sister's age, but with dark circles under her eyes that said she did not sleep as much as Sabrina and I were allowed—which wasn't very much these days. Despite the circles, the rest of her skin was youthful, healthily and naturally tanned with full cheeks and pink lips. It was a pleasant contrast with her fine eyes, the color of lush grass, all underneath a head of dark hair done up in two thick braids on either side of her head.

I figured she must be a Ferelden-born Nevarran or Antivan for not being pale-skinned like the rest of us. Of course there was also the chance she was a Tevinter but I'd never met one, it's hard to imagine they'd ever leave the Imperium, especially if they were a mage. Mages are powerful there. I would go if I weren't afraid I would stumble over their speech and land myself in a position as slave to a magister to be possessed by demons or used for blood magic.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"What?" Her question interrupted my thoughts, temporarily startling me, "I'm sorry. Just getting used to the different light…" I looked over to her friends, "You have pet bears?"

"They're not pets, they're friends. They help me and I help them."

"Bears help you."

"Yes."

"Bears."

"Is it so hard to understand?"

I shook my head, "It's just different. I never heard of a mage being able to control animals. What school of magic is it? Is it blood magic?" I asked that last part rather hesitantly.

A finger went up to my face waggling to and fro rather angrily, "I am _not_ a blood mage! You think only blood mages hide out in caves and use unorthodox methods of magic?"

"Likely not."

She huffed and turned to look around her shelter with her hair reflecting all sorts of colors from the light, red, purple, blue, black, silver… then she drew her robes closer around her body. If it weren't for them, I think her stature would appear rather small and slender. Anyone with enough meat on them wouldn't need such thick robes, but the gooseflesh on my arms would beg to differ even underneath my good linen shirt. It was rather chilly in here, despite the fact that there was a family of five enormous, fat-covered bears in close quarters with us.

"You said odd circumstances brought you four to the cave? Let's walk to the entrance, you may tell me about it."

"Whatever you say, Madame," I said with a nod, heading back the way I came through, and my new acquaintance following close behind me. We walked in silence for the first few minutes, but she soon grew impatient.

"Are you going to tell me or not, Orlesian?

"My accent is that obvious?"

"Disgustingly so."

"You dislike me for being Orlesian, but I've said nothing about your being a Ferelden dog lord. Just know I am not of noble birth, and have no fear of me hiring a bard to charm you until she can get a blade to your throat."

"Just tell me your story; I know how your kind likes to talk. Go on," It was surprising to hear the amusement in her voice, and I smiled as well.

"I took some bad advice from an idiot Free Marches farmhand my sister and I met in Starkhaven. He and his brother tagged along with us in our journey to the Inquisition. Unfortunately, I have chosen to forget their names, so I call one of them Idiot, and the other is Other Idiot… they do not know my sister and I are apostates. Sadly, news of Haven reached us after we had spent the coin to come to Amaranthine, so we came here anyway. I suppose not everyone in the Inquisition can be dead, so perhaps we may find them. I do not know. All I do know is that my sister and I cannot have stayed so near to Kirkwall for so long."

"The trouble with the Knight-Commander is over, though. The old bag is dead, turned to some crystal statue during her fight with the Champion," This was true, but I still shook my head at her.

"It is still very tense there, and it would have comforted me more if Lady Hawke had driven a sword in her gullet rather than fought until she turned herself to stone."

"That's very dark."

We had come upon the entrance where my sister was still sitting and Kane and Hunter had returned, soaking wet, but delivering freshly killed Fennec. Kane's bloody spear leaned against the wall behind him as Hunter tried making a fire with the small bit of dry tinder he had packed in his bag—the pages of a book. There wasn't any dry wood for a proper fire. I glanced at Hunter's longbow and imagined tossing it and his arrows into the flames as his hand inched closer to Sabrina's when he took a break from his work, sliding across the slab of rock they were seated on. She blushed and pulled her hand away. My blood boiled. I have played the role of father and mother to her for too long to let this slide, and my sister was still too young for romance—too busy. An apostate barely has time to worry for such things when they are running and I would not have my sister troubled by it if I could help it. Twenty-one, my age: that is an acceptable age for a young marriage. Freshly eighteen is too young, and when the time comes for my sister to be married, it will certainly not be to a pompous Free Marcher we barely know.

Kane stood when we approached, his hand twitching and ready to hold the spear he had crafted earlier upon seeing the new addition to our group of friends, and asked, "Who is that?"

I know he saw her staff, and as is the closed-minded assumption of any non-mage, I know he assumed she was a blood mage. This is the reason I prefer not to travel with anyone else but Sabrina. If they find we are apostates, the names they will shout sting worse than the cut of a blade. Blood mage, abomination, demon… Sabrina and I will have to abandon them somewhere soon.

"Allow me to introduce myself." The girl stepped forward, "My name is Jasmine. I was once part of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi, but escaped overseas and have been living in this cave since last year."

"You live in a cave?" Kane asked.

"That's what I just said, isn't it?"

"I heard a story from the bar tender at the tavern back inside the city walls that a blood mage lived in some cave out here."

"Ah," She laughed, "Amaranthine's very own Lady of the Soul's blood. Yes. A group of slightly drunken hunters were coming too near a bear cub, and so I persuaded them to leave using my talents. One of them set off their belt of grenades too close to himself and didn't make it back home. Rumor has it that a demon birthed me from the bear's mouth and I slit my wrists, sending my blood forward to tear him apart. Dramatic story, is it not? Not quite _Hard in Hightown,_ but a story all the same," she put her free wrist forward and pushed back the sleeve, "I've never used blood magic a day in my life. I never plan to."

Everyone stared at her smooth wrist and nodded, as if confirming that indeed she was no blood mage. I, for one, held my reservations about this _Jasmine_ and decided that I would trust her if she earned it. One look at the Marchers said that they held no ill will towards her anymore, but they were stupid…although, their ease in the presence of a known mage certainly landed points in their favor.

No. _No._ Trust no one.

I sat between my sister and the red-head, forcing them both to scoot towards the edge of the stone slab. Proper introductions were made, then and each of us went around to tell Jasmine our names. We all made nice and pretended to like one another as Kane skinned the fox, and I looked over towards his brother's work with the tinder.

"What are you doing," I asked, "What can I do to start the fire?"

He snorted, "Just gather some rocks to arrange the perimeter. I doubt _you_ can do much else than that."

"What makes you say that?" I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Well, to be fair, you really haven't been much of a help. You make plans and talk to people, but Kane and I are the ones that do all the fighting and the running and the fetching and the hunting."

"I like to think today was rather progressive in the running category."

"He can certainly start a fire by himself," Jasmine interrupted from a seat she found on a drier spot of the cave, "Much easier than you can." I motioned to her with my eyes that it was certainly not a good idea. She didn't take the hint.

"Ha! Alex?" Hunter challenged her.

"Yes. Alex."

My eyes shifted over to Sabrina, who was watching in horror at what was taking place, thinking that our cover was blown. It was, I'd confessed to a mage whom I thought I could trust more than a pair of barely-literate Marchers that only knew how to kill and smash things with their hands and weapons. Sweat trickled down my neck, chilling the spine.

Then, I stood. With the toe of my boot, I drew a small circle and carefully arranged some rocks on the outline to contain the fire. Despite their vehement protests, I grabbed Hunter's quiver and Kane's spear, splitting them to make firewood enough to set the tinder on top of, and then swept that on top before fire formed in my hands on my command.

In the light of the flames, the brothers' faces were the most shocked faces I had seen in my life.


	3. Chapter 2

"You're a _mage?_ "

"Why do you sound slightly less surprised at this than you were when I said Orlesians are born without makeup?"

"What? Don't avoid the topic, you can't do that now after cooking our dinner on magic fire you made with your hands," Kane, as I had instructed, was not speaking. Unfortunately, the red-headed brat didn't think the same rule applied to him and addressed me however he pleased.

I tore into my fox meat, rather not enjoying my meal for the odd taste and texture—not to mention the meat was tough and the company was irritating. Out of the corner of my eye, I had seen Kane gobble down his dinner, and my poor sister barely picked at hers. She eagerly offered what she hadn't touched to him and he accepted it with more grace than I could have imagined.

Hunter snapped his fingers in front of my eyes to get my attention again, so I swallowed, and sighed, "My _sister_ and I are _both_ mages, Monsieur… Tann, was it? Yes. I can summon fire at my finger tips or send lightning through your body with the wave of a hand, but my sister over here can freeze men solid and raise the dead—a trick she learned from an old hag in Orlais that I advised her not to see," Sabrina blushed and looked down when eyes fell upon her. It was true, an old necromancer sought to teach us both a dark magic, but I refused. I cannot say how angry I was with Sabrina when I found out that she had been allowing the hag to teach her to play with cadavers.

"Why didn't you tell us?" He asked.

Thankfully for him, my sister interjected, stopping me from causing perhaps another fight, "Are you kidding?" She asked him quietly, "The chantry spends every breath it has to spare for us that magic is a sin, and the Templars are ruthless when they find apostates old enough to know they should be in a circle."

The Ferelden in the corner snorted and flipped one of her braids behind her shoulder, "'Should be,' is a stretch. Nobody should be locked away in the circle, it's a prison. Magic is just something you are able to do, nothing more than being able to hit your target with an arrow or sing a tune."

"If that Grey Warden, Anders had stayed in his circle the Kirkwall chantry would never have been destroyed," Not one of us was left sitting when Hunter added this.

"Sure," Jasmine said, "Of course you take the actions of one mage and say the whole of them are sour, but when a man is murdered with a knife in the streets, not one of you suggests that all people who have knives are guilty. You try to find the one man responsible."

Again I checked on Sabrina, who looked up at our Free Marcher acquaintance that was doing all the arguing with tears in her eyes. I put my arms around her so she could hide her face from them in a hug if she wished, but I would not drop this argument. I was defending my family.

"Why is it that you are so concerned with Sabrina and I being mages, but you didn't so much as blink when our new friend here walked in with a staff?"

Hunter started to reel on me, but hesitated when he laid eyes on my sister, who was sniffling on my shoulder, "Because, she didn't hide it. She said she was a mage upfront and did her best to explain she didn't do blood magic."

"Yes, you do take mages at their word, don't you?"

"Hate to butt in, but I prefer to be called a witch. It separates me more from the chantry, I think. A chantry that teaches mages to hate themselves and to seek forgiveness for how they were born," I had to admit, I was starting to like the Ferelden, but only because she made some good arguments. She continued rather heatedly.

"It's like being born with a blemish that would normally be underneath your clothes, only as you get older the blemish gets uglier and uglier, only it's alright at first because the only person who would see it is yourself, your parents, and whoever you loved enough. Except one day, the blemish gets harder to hide and since you're not a young child anymore, nobody takes pity on you and fears you from a distance. They call you things, like dangerous, freak, abomination, and demon until men clad in heavy armor with big, heavy weapons march into your home and take you from the comfort of your parents. They'll being you far away and the whole way to your new 'home', there isn't anyone to comfort you—not one of the armored men will speak to you, and you don't even try to get them to, you're so terrified. Then when you arrive you're handed over to a stranger who either feels so sorry for you that they talk in the most soothing voice they can—which, oddly enough, scares you even more. Or this stranger has seen and heard too much to feel anything and they file you in and fill a vial with your blood like it happens every day, you're just part of the common crowd, and it seems impossible that something like this, all this terror, and confusion, and the sadness you're feeling that all of it could be so ordinary that you begin to wonder if you had done something or if you'd died and not gone to the Golden City they always talk about.

"Then the women in robes come in and every day for the rest of your life if they ever speak to you it's telling you that _you_ have been born sinning and that _you_ should seek forgiveness from their blasted Maker and his bitch-born bride. Well _no._ That's where I put my damned foot down. None of us asked for this. I didn't ask to be born any more than you did. And when my time comes, when it's time to decide whether I should take my place at the Maker's side or not, I'll ask that he beg for my forgiveness before I sit anywhere near him."

You could have heard a pin drop in that cave if the pouring rain had paused to listen along with us. Sabrina had forced herself to stop sniffing and crying to listen closely at our fellow mage's words, and the two without magic sat watching with their mouths agape. I found that my own eyes and mouth had remained unblinking and slack-jawed since the beginning of her speech. I remedied that immediately.

A silence, long and uncomfortable took us by the ears, leaving us to think on her words before the lumbering Marcher that had stayed silent since before he left to find dinner stood and cleared his throat.

"Hunter and me don't have nothing against mages," he said, not making eye contact with anyone he was really addressing, but staring down his step-brother, who I could feel was slightly intimidated, "You wouldn't blame every templar for the crimes of one, nor every guard in the city for having a corrupt captain. So why would you blame all mages for the bad things individual ones have done?"

Kane was a large young man, with thick arms and legs—actually, his entire body was thick, he was just that muscular. Long hours on the farm in his twenty-three years built him up. He had a strong, square jaw and stubble, but if he neglected to shave for longer, no doubt he would have a full black beard, mustache, and large sideburns. He was built like your stereotypical manly man. Many Free Marches lower-class were full-bearded muscle heads. It wasn't any surprise to find that Kane had once wielded a war hammer before he had neglected to bring it along with him on his journey here with us. Hunter had a lot to live up to. Kane could tan, and he could use the set of dark eyes he had under a fierce brow to intimidate if he so wished. He held this gaze with his brother for some time before Hunter finally nodded in agreement.

Some of us were more willing to relax and go to sleep, leaving ourselves vulnerable to one another as we did nights before. I had always been the one to stay up the latest, to watch over Sabrina and make sure the Marchers didn't accost us like bandits and run away with what little money we had. Between my sister and myself, we had about five Royals, twenty silver, and a handful of coppers—decent, but it wouldn't last us long. It was certainly an amount a thief wouldn't think twice about taking.

Kane was the first to fall asleep; his large body sprawled with his hands behind his head as he snored. I was almost jealous of him. I, for one, kept shifting around, moving to stay away. So as not to disturb my sister, I had moved away, and watched conflicted as she fell asleep on the red-headed Marcher's shoulder. I didn't want to wake her and tell her to get away from him, she might be cross with me that I disturbed her sleep—and the cave floor wasn't an appealing bed. If his shoulder was softer, perhaps let her sleep there for whatever comfort it could provide. He was sound asleep as well, and probably wouldn't know if I woke her early.

A chuckle came from across the cave, and I channeled the right amount of magic to light up the tip of my finger like a candle. It burned without fear of harming me, and I smirked at first when I saw the Ferelden's amused expression in the dim light. She had eyes better adjusted to the dark than myself, most likely, and had caught me spying.

"Oh, big brother, don't look so concerned," she spoke quietly, "If you coddle her forever she'll die an old maid."

I frowned and whispered back without really any hostility in my tone, "That isn't any of your business, Ferelden."

" _Jasmine._ And it's not, but it's something you need to hear. She's my age, but she's been as free as an apostate could be all her life-" I had remembered seeing them talk and hearing them giggle with one another for a while after dinner was done and shook my head. Sabrina is far too trusting for her own good, I think, "—yet she's about as closeted as a circle mage. I've met three seventy-year-old men and women that have never been kissed, you know."

"That's funny because I hear that in the Ferelden circle, they were having all sorts of fun."

"Before the abominations and before the Blight, maybe, but I never said I was ever in the Ferelden circle. I was born here, but went to Kirkwall, and then when the Blight was over and the Knight Commander went mad, I came back to hide."

I snorted, "Why is it that whenever you speak you're telling me a piece of your life story?"

She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, watching the cold ashes of the fire we had put out earlier in the dim sliver of moonlight that fell through the cave, but now she stretched her legs, and leaned back, imitating Kane with her hands folded behind her head before she asked, "If _you_ spent three years with only bears for company, don't you think you'd be glad to find someone else to talk to? One that believed you when you said you weren't possessed or a blood mage?"

"Maybe, but rumor has it that the mage that destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry was a rights activist and spoke a lot like the way you sound. Every word from your mouth is about the mage's suffering," I said this casually as I lay down at a respectful distance beside her, but meant it with the utmost contempt for her. Scorn the mages that brought attention to us. It's the opposite of what I want. I wish we would just be left alone.

"How could you think it's all bullshit? _You're_ a mage!"

I shushed her when she began to raise her voice, "I don't think it's bullshit. I live it each day. The fact of the matter is that it's old news, and the Chantry will never accept us. We might as well all move to Tevinter, if only we were allowed to go anywhere. Moving would be seen as an act of war, and so the reasonable best I can expect for me and Sabrina is that we can be part of the few able to hide and be ignored. Bringing attention to the mages plight, shouting about our oppression, crying when we're beaten, raped, and murdered—it never brings any good. It brings more chains because one mage has to ruin it all for the rest of us, always. I must admit, I contradict myself by saying this because I do agree with many of the points you make. I just only wish you would pipe down about it. A long speech is enough to convince a couple of country bumpkins, not Grand Chancellors and Clerics, Revered Mothers, or the Divine— the handful that are on our side piss themselves in the face of true conflict, and so we truly have no one at our backs. The sooner you face the reality that we are completely and utterly alone, the longer a life you will live."

I heard her sniff a little, but I doubted that she was crying. She struck me as the type that was tough as nails, and confirmed this by adding rather sarcastically, "Wow. You must be great fun at parties."

"Actually, I once forged a set of invitations in the name of the young Lord my parents served and told those invited there would be a ball. He never found who it was that wrote the invitations, but I was told the ball I orchestrated was one of the best his guests had ever witnessed."

"Throwing a party and being fun at a party are two different things."

"I was an outgoing seven-year-old and easily kept the high-classed guests entertained as the Lord rushed in between unplanned events to find something more to please the party-goers so that his reputation would remain pure."

"Now I know that story's bullshit, you can't have been only seven and forged neat invitations for a party hosting nobility."

I chuckled, smiling for the first time that day as I stared up at the pitch black ceiling, reliving the entire party in my head, "I said the Lord was young. He had no children of his own, and was remarkably charitable for an Orlesian noble. He hired tutors for the children of his servants, which would have opened us up to better jobs in our adulthood."

"That was kind. Was it hard to leave him when you discovered your magic?"

"It was. It was his plan to hide me, and later my sister, but he was killed when I was thirteen, and then we had to run. A bard hired by some rival of his in the Orlesian court—likely some jealous little snit, charmed his way into the Lord's bed and castrated him. He was found dead in the morning, fully erect, blood all over the sheets, and his balls on the dresser. It was my first experience with The Game."

" _You're lying._ "

"The worst part is that I'm not. The nobles of my country enjoy their Game, and castrating the man in the middle of a night of passion was one of the least creative ways to go about playing it."

"And I thought you didn't like me," I detected a playful tone, and could not help myself. I smiled, letting loose another chuckle, although I was rather confused at what she meant.

"What does that have to do with anything I just said?"

"You're sharing. I thought you didn't trust anyone."

"Ah," I nodded and furrowed my brow. I had shared quite a bit, and I wondered how I had neglected to notice. I was now double the hypocrite—telling her to shove the Rights Activist speech and telling her to keep her life story to herself. I quickly made a joke of it to ease my growing tensions, and perhaps shield myself from any fire I might receive, "I am Orlesian, after all. I grow weak at the sight of a beautiful woman, Ferelden or no."

"Ha! That's rich. And if I cut off your balls like that bard?"

"You won't."

"How do you know that?"

"You are Ferelden. You detest everything Orlesian, which would include me and The Game."

I heard a yawn, "Good point. Anyway, we should get some sleep. Tomorrow I'm planning on taking you all to the market. You and your sister need something to defend yourselves with, and so does the big Marcher. And you'll need food. I don't think it wise to keep eating the wildlife."

"Alright… Bonsoir, Ferelden."

"Hn. Goodnight, Orlesian Tit."


	4. Chapter 3

_On the coastlands to the southwest of Amaranthine, just outside of West Hill…_

"I'm beginning to think it was a bad idea on our part to bring that one along. We've seen weird before, but this is just… weird. Have you seen him blink once? I think he's scaring Bethany. The magister's fine, though. Long as he doesn't try any blood magic."

"Bethany's fine, Anders, and the other boy's too young to be a magister. I think. I hope." The pale, curvy woman placed one of her delicate looking hands in her husbands (not in eyes of the Chantry, however), and he accepted it gracefully before he turned to gaze down at her. Over her dark, curly hair tied into a loose knot, she wore a green hood to hide her features from the passerby. She was perhaps less famous here in Ferelden than in Kirkwall, but Georgiana Hawke remembered the time a Qunari elf had taken her to Orlais and she was recognized by a man who she had never met before.

Husband and wife held their knowing gaze with one another for a long moment before she turned her attention to the baby looking up curiously from where she was cradled in her mother's arm. They had the same fair skin tone and piercing grey eyes, but that nose, slender and pointed was shared with her father, along with the color of the golden ringlets she was growing.

"I don't know, George," he said, "That's the face of a powerful thinker. She's probably thinking, 'Mummy and daddy are mad to have brought those silly boys with us. They should hand them over to a nice looking inn keeper and tell him they're good for farm work.'"

"I thought you liked helping mages! But… it would be better for us if they went somewhere else, at least until everyone forgets about Kirkwall," Hawke raised her eyes to look over at the boys, who were busy buying a sack of apples at a market stall. They had stopped in a small village for a short time on their way to meet an old friend of theirs; coming from Orlais, but it was a bad time to be in Ferelden… not that they had much of a choice. Apostates rarely did.

One of the boys was pale, not like Hawke, but rather pasty as if he never saw the sun. One look at the cloudy sky said that he was probably in luck. This pale boy of perhaps seventeen always wore a grin and almost never said anything without embellishing it with flowery speech. His hair, long, black, and messy stuck out from an old two-pointed jester's hat colored in bright purple and yellow that flopped on either side of his ears. The hat would not be such an issue if bells were not attached to the ends of each side. He _never_ stayed still unless he was sleeping. Otherwise he was always jittering, pacing, and _dancing_ whenever he could. He danced around in discolored linens that looked like they might have once been the height of Orlesian fashion twenty years ago and had been mended several times since, while his leather boots were cracked and scuffed, and probably wouldn't see through the winter. He was a Ferelden and answered to the name Oran, but neither husband nor wife liked to get his attention, and so it was left to the other boy to look after his friend.

The otherboy was the polar opposite. His accent was straight out of the Imperium, and his dark, olive skin was evenly tanned. He had a thick black beard that was as neatly trimmed as the hair he slicked back every morning. At around twenty his facial hair rivaled Anders', who had only grown out the scraggly mess on his face to hide better. His eyes were such a dark brown that they seemed almost black, and they sat underneath a pair of neat eyebrows. The boy never slouched or raised his voice, and always walked with his hands behind his back. They were lucky to have never run into any Templars, because he did not hide that he was a mage. Add a staff to his Imperium getup and he was obviously a magister of some sort, or at least related to one—and oh, he had one. Some sinister looking thing carved from Onyx, a cruel looking raven with ruby eyes on one end, and a sharp trident blade on the other. When the Tevinter boy had greeted them for the first time, he used his full name, Quintus Sanguis and was very formal about the whole thing. He also towered over Georgiana, casting a shadow even over Anders, who was one of the tallest men she knew.

"Justice disagrees with me on sending them away, but it's safer for us right now. But maybe I am just being bitter over what happened the _last_ time I tried to help my fellow mages."

"To be fair, you really aren't the public's favorite. The chantry would probably label Bethany a renegade for being related to you, and she's just a baby. You can't really blame them for telling you to bugger off. At least they didn't try to kill you. That's always a good thing."

"You know just how to make me feel better," Sarcasm dominated, but he still held on tightly to her hand, and squeezed as his expression distorted slightly as if he were in pain. Lowering his voice further than the soft tone they already were using he asked, "Shouldn't we leave them before we head off to meet the Taint Brigade? I don't want them getting in the middle of the blighted wardens and Justice and red lyrium."

Georgiana cocked her head to the side and observed the boys more—it looked like they were finishing up at the market, "Stroud is meeting us in whatever's left of Lothering, there shouldn't be many people, let alone Templars there. We can take them that far; maybe you can give them a few ideas, but they can't travel with us, it's not safe for the investigation. It's easier to hide when there are less of us, anyway."

"Lothering…," Anders nodded, rubbing his scraggly beard with one hand, "You just wanted to go home, I bet.

"Can you blame me? It's secluded. And I've missed it."

The morning after our meet and greet with the Ferelden, we all decided to take a leap of faith and trust one another for at least as long as it took to reach someone who knew any news about the Inquisition, and perhaps where to find what was left of it—which couldn't be much considering a mountainside crushed their headquarters in the Frostback Mountains.

By my count, that's two holy buildings destroyed on the watch of that "Herald of Andraste" fellow—the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and the Haven Chantry. Maker's balls, I don't really believe a word of all that shit they're saying about him, but I'll gladly eat those words if we find someone who was up close and personal with Trevelyan and they tell me his hand glowed like they say it does. Or did. Whatever, for now I'll believe it's just all stories and he's just some regular man, probably a mage that can use a sword. He wouldn't be the first; I've used a dagger before.

My back ached after waking up from that stone floor, but I was glad to get up and walk. Unfortunately, Fennec Fox doesn't really fill the belly and all of our stomachs rumbled in unison that morning, calling for a trip to the market. We'll need plenty of bread for the journey ahead of us, and maybe a little something to defend ourselves with. I took charge in the morning based on what I knew about everyone, and they seemed to agree, but only to get me off their backs. I didn't care.

I told the Ferelden she would be useful in picking up weapons—daggers we could hide, another quiver for the red-head, and a sword or something for the dumb one. After combining our pocket change, we came to the conclusion that we would be better off paying for such things after exploring the pockets of the well-dressed denizens of Amaranthine, but nothing to draw much attention to ourselves. I then put my sister in charge of collecting enough food for the five of us to go on a week-long trip—just enough. I told her to buy dried foods and bread, only what would last us, and I knew she wouldn't let me down in this. She took all of the coin we had gathered. Before we went our separate ways, I told Kane to accompany Sabrina. He was usually a bit empty-minded and could certainly defend her should something happen, which I doubted. Kane was the one I trusted the least to be good in a high-pressure situation, and I would rather my sister be as safe as possible, even if she had the easy job out of the two we could do at the moment.

Hunter came with me, told to be my second pair of fists should something go wrong, and he seemed to protest at first, but with everyone else content with their place he shrugged his shoulders and followed after me towards the crowds. The main method I always use is to scope out a coin purse that looks like it could come off easy, and then quickly crowd the person as I swiftly yank it off their belt and move away. It doesn't always work out smoothly, but the once I did it today worked fine. That poor man will have to do without another silk shirt, I'm afraid.

After taking but a few coins from different purses, I brought in a nice sum, which I imagine could buy us a good set of arrows, a couple of sharp daggers, and a sword. Only a few more purses, perhaps—then I could be satisfied with the work I did.

"You don't like me," Hunter said suddenly when he got close enough behind me to start a conversation. I was busy shoving coin into the small messenger bag I usually kept my food and coinpurse in.

"You are very observant," I replied.

He answered with something that irritated me, however, and my casual, but cautious attitude in the beginning of the conversation immediately turned rotten when I heard the words, "Your sister likes me just fine. I don't know what your problem is. Why don't you like me?"

I chuckled harshly in a heavy accent, bordering on the obnoxious with it, "Well, there are plenty of reasons, where shall I start?"

"You didn't like me before I figured out you were a mage. Let's start at the beginning," I had stopped picking pockets by now to humor him and listen.

"At the beginning, Free Marcher? Very well," I cleared my throat, "You ogle my sister, something I find disrespectful and disgusting."

He looked generally surprised, his thick red eyebrows venturing way up his face, but the anger I expected wasn't there, which I narrowed my eyes at. I would have preferred if he tried to argue, "Oh. Fair enough—I didn't think I was ogling. You sister is a very pretty girl, and when she talks to me, she's kind—,"

I interrupted him.

"She's kind for everyone, you are not special," but didn't stop there. I became a bully, listing petty shit just to rile him, and hopefully he would take his brother and leave for good, "Your accent is annoying and you smell like a cow, but you don't look like you could do half the work your brother probably does, and I bet you can't aim for shit with that bow."

He furrowed his thick brows at me, and I looked back at him with a smirk. We were the same height, so he couldn't use that as an advantage against me. Furthermore, the crowd was restricting movement for the both of us, so throwing a punch or shoving was out of the question.

It surprised me when he took a hold of my collar and grasped it tightly so that it would choke a little.

"Fine," he started, and I could hear the fire in his tone, "Your sister is your business. Baby her forever and keep her from making friends, that's all I was interested in. But know that I'm only with you so that I can get my brother and me somewhere we can do our part against The Breach. I don't need some spoilt Orlesian twat sucking the morale from us just because he's bitter that his sister wanted to lend a hand to a couple of strangers and let us along with you."

I had no more words for Hunter, so I spat in his face in response. My nose was still sore from last night when we had first arrived at the cave and he threw a punch that bloodied my nose, and I could see his knuckles were still bruised, but he did his best to drag me to a more open space and launched his fist toward my eye anyway.

The crowd quickly dispersed, forming a small circle around us as we both threw punches. The first I received had sent me stumbling backward, and I regained my footing to see him through my eye that was quickly swelling. The steps he took had him pacing back and forth in front of me, watching my every move.

I wanted so badly to strangle him with my bare hands, encircling his skull in fire, but I couldn't risk the wrath of the Templars by doing it. Instead, we charged at one another, Hunter throwing another punch high, as I ducked low and wrapped my arms around his waist in a tackle. We hit the ground and toppled a rickety stand where a merchant was selling hats. I got on top of him, holding him down with my knee on his chest, one hand on his throat, the other poised to crack open his face when a heavily armored hand grabbed my wrist before I could throw another punch.

"Let go of him, son," The voice belonging to the strange hand said, and I looked up to see where it was coming from. An iron helmet covered his face from view, but his chestplate had the insignia of Amaranthine on it. He was part of the city guard. My grip on Hunter's throat was released, and I stood, lifting the pressure I put on him with my knee off his chest. The guard seemed to pay my victim no mind as he wheezed and struggled up from the ground, he only seemed to stare at me from behind the slit in his helmet. I stared back, trying to look defiant, but I'm sure I looked more nervous than anything.

"I'll have none of that fighting going on in the market, you do it in your own home or work it out before you get out in public," I had averted my gaze to watch Hunter dust himself off for a moment and the guard loosened his grip on my wrist only to grab a hold of the hair on the back of my head and pull me close, "Do I need to take you up to the keep to make sure you understand this?"

"We're street performers," Hunter coughed, surprising me with the quick answer, however hopeless it might be.

"Street performers?" The guard repeated.

"Aye, sir," Hunter's accent changed a little to best resemble a pure-blooded Ferelden's, and it was rather accurate, which admittedly impressed me, "Me step-brother and I got no money to speak of, so we go from city to city tryin' our hand at most talents just so we can get enough to get to the next place. We cannae carry a tune for shite or work our way 'round jugglin', and we were about to give up and just beg, but an old man in the last city we was in said that everyone likes to see a good fight. We tried it and made more money than ever. We didna mean to offend."

"Well," The guard stared back at me, and I tried my best to smile and nod, staying silent so he wouldn't hear my Orlesian accent and make a decision we would regret, "That's a sad story, lads, but I'm afraid you can't do that here. You've vandalized the market and startled people. It may work in Downtown when the civilized people have gone to bed, but not in the market," he had let go of my hair, and I backed away.

"Sorry sir," the accent was flawless, "We willna let it happen again ," He then turned to the crowd and bowed graciously as he spun his apologies. After the guard had left, I busied myself with setting up the hat-seller's merchandise back up on what was left of the table when a tap came on my shoulder, and I turned with my blackened eye and everything to find an elderly woman pressing a small coinpurse into my palm. I looked towards Hunter at this, and we made eye-contact, the two of us equally astounded as a few people from the crowed placed silver coins in his hands.

"That's a lot of bread."

"And dried fruit."

"All that and what we can get from hunting on our travels, we shouldn't go hungry."

The five of us peered into the satchel my sister had filled to the brim with food, and not one complaint was to be had. There was a surplus of all we could have asked for, and the only thing left to do with it was make sure everyone carried an even amount. We took the time to distribute it all amongst ourselves, trading back and forth until everyone was happy. I like to think it was the first time we had made a decision without someone wanting to complain. I looked over at my sister from across the circle we had made, all putting our heads together, and she stared at my black eye, but I only smiled and whispered in Orlesian how she had done well. That brought a smile to her face.

My stomach churned in that moment with homesickness, and I let my eyes scan the familiar face across from me. Sabrina was lucky, she looked just like our mother, from whom the only thing I inherited was the blue eyes like the sky, only on myself I felt they were dull. Mother's and Sabrina's eyes always sparkled, and their golden waves always shone, like spirits of beauty had reached out of the fade and touched their faces through their dreams.

I had inherited hair the color of night from my father, only his was always trimmed and neat, and his face was always clean-shaven, unlike mine. My hair grows like dark, curly weeds, tangling easy and picking up debris, while my stubble grows rough and uneven. I often give myself a home haircut and a shave with a dull dagger, but it all always grows back fast, looking more unpresentable as time goes on. My skin turns red under the sun, and then reverts to a rough tan when the sting is gone, whereas my sister tans evenly, barely any blemishes to show for how the sun has treated her.

I hardly care how I look, it doesn't matter as long as we have to run, but sometimes I get the suspicion that Sabrina wishes she had reason to rouge her lips or put on a fine dress. We were the children of servants, but somehow, I have no doubt in my mind, that some noble as kind as the man that had employed our parents, or a respectable man of any sort would see my sister as the young woman she had grown into, thoughtful, wise, and with a heart like summer, and not our social or economic status. I suddenly found myself glancing at Hunter, and shook myself from the thought.

What silly things to think of over dried fruits and bread.

I straightened with my pockets full of my share of the food, and then balanced the coin Hunter and I had made in the palm of my hand, all tied up in a purse that threatened to burst at the seams if we shoved any more coin in it.

"All this is mostly silver and a handful of copper, but there are a few gold pieces. This should be enough to buy a sword, a quiver of arrows, and whatever else we may need," I told the rest of them.

"Staves. You and Sabrina each need to have a staff," Jasmine, the Ferelden spoke up. I had noticed she's not failed to bring hers along, but how she could so brashly do that, I will never understand.

"No," I said, before my sister could get what she had had to say out of her mouth. She quickly shut it and settled for watching, "We don't have them for a reason. It's easier to spot a mage when he or she carries a weapon that a mage would have."

"Oh _please,_ " she said, "The Inquisition aligned itself with the Templars. I don't know if you heard, but the ones that didn't go with the Inquisition went mad on some different kind of Lyrium. It's all people have been talking about since Haven was destroyed."

"I don't listen to gossip."

The Ferelden sighed and shook her head at me, "All the Templars are dead or gone nuts or are few and far between, and the ones that aren't nutters are far more concerned with the damned hole in the sky to care about a couple of mages that aren't doing blood magic or sacrificing babies to some demon."

"Is this the same Jasmine that delivered the speech on the Mage's plight yesterday?"

"Aye, and it's the same one that's telling you to pick up a fucking staff so you can kill shite if need be."

A small voice familiar to me cut in from behind us, making the tips of my ears turn red, "If magic comes more naturally to me in my defense, I would rather have a staff than a dagger."

Jasmine tilted her head to get full view of Sabrina's face and grinned, showing a set of white teeth, "there, the quiet one gets it. Let's have a show of hands who else agrees," The four against me all raised their hands, staring at me as my face grew hot, until I could feel my heartbeat in my swollen eye. I finally caved and raised my hand.

"Fine. But only because you all pressured me into it."

The blacksmith was on the far end of the market, and we found it mostly unoccupied except for the blacksmith himself, who was busy dipping a white-hot sword into a trough of water.

"Aye, 'ave a look 'round, wee bairns, dinnae break nuffin' ya cannae pay for, ya ken?" he asked, and not a word of it I understood. Jasmine seemed to hear him just fine, however, and nodded graciously as we perused his wares.

Kane found a large, sturdy hammer that looked much like a meat tenderizer on one side, and much like a pickaxe on the other. The blacksmith named a price that was within our range, and he bought it, while his brother picked out a nicely packed quiver that held twice as many arrows than the last, and it was stocked with them as well. Once those of us who had need of weapons had chosen them, we paid for our merchandise and headed towards the city gates, not without some odd looks from the blacksmith.

My sister had chosen a rather interesting looking staff that I could see was a good fit for her. It looked like a naked branch that had been stripped from its tree, but instead of being made of brittle wood, it was crafted from glittering red steel and had some interesting looking baubles and such hanging from the metal "twigs". The grip was coarse leather, and the blade was like that of a dagger, good for her should she have any close-ranged enemies. Mine was a simple ebony rod that was cut off, and a Lion's head carved from wood was mounted on the top and held in place with strong, blood-red leather. Its simplicity appealed to me, and I was sure it wouldn't draw much attention. The snarl on the Lion's face was savage, but altogether, our weapons didn't make us look like terrible blood-mage apostates. Or, I hoped they didn't.

"You're the man with the plan, aren't you?" Jasmine asked once we neared the gates, "Where do we go from here? We're headed somewhere there might still be traces of the Inquisition, right? What do you suppose we do?"

I thought for a moment, cocking my head to the side as I felt four pairs of eyes on me, before nodding to myself as if I had had a most agreeable conversation, "We head west. There may still be forces outside of Haven we can follow to whatever remains of the Inquisition."

"There's a town, North of Ostagar—the land hasn't seen anyone living there since the Blight but I hear it's a landmark, a passageway. They use the ghost town for all sorts of things, not all good, but we should be able to pass through it with no problem if we look savage enough," Jasmine tossed a glance at Sabrina, then shifted her eyes over to the Ginger and shrugged, "We might be alright, we've got the big one."


End file.
